The Idolatry of Duty
by Maireban
Summary: AU. Lady Cousland et al. work to save Cailan from Ostagar and restore his throne. Not Cousland/Cailan. Telling much more than that would spoil things!  Rated for language, violence, and sexual content.  Please read and review!
1. Loathing

"We will need you _all_ to raise your forces and do your duty to Ferelden. You are to join us at Ostagar by the first of Parvulis." Cailan's voice easily filled the Landsmeet Chamber. Iseult watched Cailan's face closely as the nobles cheered, his every lineament filled with pride and energy. Kings were made to be warriors, after all. Teyrns had their start as warlords too, and Iseult felt the familiar twinge of excitement at the prospect of combat. Her father had raised his children to make war, though Iseult doubted he had expected them to be quite so enthusiastic about it. Cailan was little different, looking for honour and glory, for a chance to test his arm and wits. Still, Iseult did not much love the look of excitement on the King's face – it was too wild, too untempered. Iseult had seen enough battlefields to know how dangerous a man like that could be.

Her gaze shifted to the little blonde woman at Cailan's side. Never in the five years of Cailan's reign had Iseult ever called that woman Queen, only Bitch, at least in private. She was such a small thing, delicately boned and short, the top of her head barely reaching Cailan's shoulder. She was so carefully dressed, so erect and proud that Iseult's very bones revolted against the sight of her. That Iseult and Anora looked like they might almost be sisters was an observation deadly to make in Iseult's presence, though in truth the similarity did not extend too far beyond colouring and their sharp, haughty features. Iseult glared at Anora, as she always did, filled with a curious mixture of hate and contempt. Every so slowly Anora's eyes turned to Iseult, her emotions mirroring Iseult's own. Anora's lips curled in a smile that the world would view as polite; it was the only means by which Iseult and Anora were wont to bear fangs at each other. Iseult imagined how pleasant Anora would look with a line of red, gushing blood marring her tiny little throat. Iseult smiled back.

"Pup?" Iseult turned, startled, to her father. How long had he been speaking to her? Bryce Cousland smirked at his daughter and glanced knowingly towards Anora. In answer to Iseult's questioningly lifted brow, Bryce merely inclined his head toward the Chamber doors and held an arm toward Eleanor. The Couslands bowed to the King before departing, the first to quit the Chamber as they were first in the realm. Iseult and Fergus followed close behind, the rest of Highever's Arls trailing after.

"It isn't polite to stare, little sister," Fergus muttered to her as they walked, voice dripping sarcasm.

"It's considerably more polite than gouging out her eyeballs," Iseult hissed back, nettled.

Fergus only grinned in response.

Free of the Landsmeet Chamber and the immutable regality required of her before the nobles, Iseult released her brother's arm. "I suppose you will be headed back to the estate for tea? Maker help you if you're late."

"Oh, come now, it's not as though Oriana forces _you_ to adhere to her schedule. Or her rules, or her religious observations…" Fergus frowned, his knees still aching from the three-hour mass the night previous.

Iseult grinned and patted Fergus's arm companionably, "No. I had the good sense not to marry." At Fergus's rather dark look she hastily added, "An Antivan."

"Ha," Fergus gave one of those barking laughs for which he was so famous. "Right," Fergus visibly squared himself for the ceremonious ordeal to come, "I'm off to take my tea."

"Have fun!" Iseult directed an infuriatingly smug smile at Fergus's retreating back. The smile became a grin when Fergus flashed her the finger behind his back.

"Maker's Breath! I find it impossible to believe that I raised such an ill-mannered child." Eleanor practically materialized behind Iseult, trying very hard not to smile.

Iseult gave her mother a wan smile, already searching the growing crowd for one man in particular. She finally found him, dressed in studded black leathers that he apparently decided did not fall under the ban on armour in the Landsmeet. He was leaning against a pillar, arms folded, thoroughly engaged in glaring with disgust at the grey-haired man in front of him. Iseult watched him for a moment, took in that look of wolfish viciousness which seemed to permeate him in public, so potentially volatile that no one bothered to pretend to want to speak to him, even if he was the Arl of Denerim's son

Yet there were many shades to Vaughan's anti-social demeanour and Iseult knew every one of them. This one carried a serious potential for violence, and the way that Vaughan subtly shifted his stance caused Iseult to hurry to his side. He had already moved away from the pillar by the time Iseult reached him. She hastily locked arms with him and dragged him, unresisting, into one of the side passages, murmuring, "Not now, not now," as they went.

The pair stopped once out of the crowd and away from the immediate danger of someone getting strangled. Still, Iseult kept tight of hold of his arm; she was partially leaning against him and could feel the tenseness in his every sinew. Vaughan continued to glower at his father. "The fucking bastard is drunk," he stated, voice dangerously low.

"Isn't he usually?" Vaughan lifted his chin in annoyance at Iseult's answer. "Let him make an ass of himself. He'll soon leave, or pass out." She tightened her hold of Vaughan's arm, her thumbs worrying his hand in a bid to calm him. Her breath came quickly, filled with fear that one day Vaughan really would lose control with his father. Iseult had given up years ago on trying to convince Vaughan to stand up to Urien, but she understood Vaughan's quiet refusal. Urien was Vaughan's father, after all, regardless of what the man had done to his son.

"He had better." Iseult turned to press herself against Vaughan, trusting the shadowy corridor to preserve their social dignity. Not that the majority of the nobles had not learned to overlook her strange closeness to Vaughan. From across the hall Urien turned, seeming to know where his son was. Vaughan and the Cousland girl looked at him with matching expressions of pure hatred. Urien smirked at Vaughan. At Iseult he sneered and dropped an elaborate, utterly sarcastic bow. The pair remained frozen in place. Urien waited a moment, lest the Cousland recall her courtesy and return the bow. When she did not, Urien burst into raucous laughter and turned to leave, drawing stares and dark whispering from the crowd.

"Well, that settles that," Iseult said buoyantly, only looking to Vaughan once Urien had left the hall. Feeling Vaughan relax somewhat, Iseult moved away from him. "Should you stay with us tonight?"

There was a fine line between which Urien was drunk enough to take ample delight in beating Vaughan black and blue yet not so drunk that he was incapable of doing it. Why Vaughan never fought back was a matter Iseult did not understand and Vaughan never attempted to explain. "It might not be a bad idea. Speaking of tonight…" Vaughan turned hazel eyes to Iseult.

A slow smile spread on Iseult's lips at the thoughts those words conjured. What could he have in mind? She remembered the feeling of three nights ago, of cold stone against her back and Vaughan taking her forcefully, the smell of sweat and wine and that intense need… "Cailan wants to meet us at the White Wing," Vaughan finished. Iseult laughed at her mistake and Vaughan grinned back, well aware of where her mind had gone.

Iseult, still laughing, turned toward the door. "I'm going to get ready for the feast. I will wear Chevin's circlet and may the Bitch burn with envy." Vaughan followed after her. Not even the Teyrn seemed to care; whether he or any of the other nobles approved or not Iseult neither knew nor minded. Vaughan and Iseult, with the addition of Cailan, had been called the Inseparables since childhood and with the former two, at least, it still held true.


	2. Brawling

**A/N: Please, please review. Not at all sure about the popularity of a not-very-nice Lady Cousland. Also, it's hard to improve it when I don't know what's wrong! Also, did no one else find Vaughan strangely attractive? :P Not sure that he's a rapist in this version, but he's still not exactly nice. Lemme know what you think! Thanks, and enjoy!**

"Look at Lady Rowena's horrendous dress," Margaret whispered, giggling, in Iseult's ear.

Iseult looked, took a moment to absorb the sheer absurdity of the lady's tunic-cum-dress, and laughed, "If she's trying to convince us that she's actually a man, she's doing a rather good job." Iseult stood in a small circle with her only female friends, three ladies from Highever with whom she had shared a nursery. They were dressed to impress, a thing made quite easy given that they had only lately returned from Orlais and had the wealth to bedeck themselves in the finest silks and jewels. The Queen seldom chose to surround herself with friends or engage in trivialities, leaving Iseult, unofficial third lady of Ferelden, arbiter of court fashion and popularity, at least among the younger crowd.

A quick look in Anora's direction afforded Iseult smug satisfaction. Anora still favoured the high collars of last season, probably, Iseult mused, because they made Anora look even more like an ice queen. What amused Iseult so was that Anora looked like she was _trying_. Iseult never seemed to have to try; she was possessed of that natural dignity that would look regal in a linen chemise. She was a Cousland. Her name and its worth were branded on her soul and she seldom felt the need to visibly remind anyone of it. The only exception she made tonight was her coronet, a beautifully wrought masterpiece of gold and sapphires, a gift from her third cousin the Orlesian duc of Chevin. Anora had inadvertently flushed when Iseult first wore it and Lady Cousland had since developed a habit of trotting it out when in Anora's presence.

"Lady Cousland, Lady Briain, Lady Spens, Lady Bollen," Habren puffed for air after completing the exhausting list of greetings and curtsies. Iseult regarded the saucy girl quietly. She liked Habren's father, she truly did, but if Habren put on any more airs her head would be apt to explode. "What a lovely dress, Lady Cousland. The blue is beautiful on you, and so simple! Of course, you have been away so long that you couldn't know that _patterned _silks are all the rage now. _My _father bought me ten…"

Ten what Iseult did not care to find out. Directing her gaze above Habren's head, Iseult and her companions snapped open their fans in unison and ambled away, fluttering the feathered implements. Habren remained in place, unsure whether to cry or protest. She settled for scampering off to tattle to her father. Iseult caught the eye of nearby Vaughan. He smirked, Iseult grinned.

"Lady Cousland, a word?" Teagan's voice behind her. Iseult turned, a smile already forming, a hand reaching out for his arm. Teagan was smiling politely but there was something sharp in his eyes that made Iseult's own smile falter.

"Of course," Iseult took the arm he offered and followed him off to a more secluded part of the banqueting hall. She refused to meet his gaze, instead taking intense interest in the myriad colours of dress about them.

"Was that entirely necessary?" Teagan looked at Iseult sternly and for so long that she finally hazarded a quick glance in his direction. He looked so disapproving that he reminded Iseult frightfully of her mother.

"She has no manners to speak of and is one of the most prideful creatures I've ever met," Iseult answered evenly, as though it should have been self-evident.

"_She _is one of the most prideful…?" Teagan raised a brow in disbelief. "Ah, yes, I had almost forgotten. All hail Lady Cousland," he bowed, "She who does no wrong and to whom pride is utterly foreign."

Iseult frowned, "Sarcasm does not become you, Teagan."

"Nor does cruelty become you," Teagan answered at once, so vehemently that Iseult winced. "You could at least be polite to her, if not for her age then for the fact that your fathers are friends. Or does that mean nothing to you?"

"Of course it does. That doesn't mean that I have to allow myself to be lorded over by her. I get enough of that from the Bitch." She gestured with her chin towards Anora, Iseult's whole demeanour shifting to one of intense pride.

"That Bitch is Queen of Ferelden," Teagan reminded her, not without some sympathy.

"_I _should be Queen," Iseult sneered, "And would have been if…"

"Enough," Teagan interrupted sharply. "You are not Queen. It's been five years. I'd have thought you would have accepted that by now." Teagan's voice softened and he smiled, its gentleness catching Iseult off guard, "I didn't know you loved him that much."

Iseult's brow furrowed in confusion. "I…" When the meaning of Teagan's words dawned on her, Iseult gave a derisive snort. "I don't," she said dismissively, slipping away from Teagan and toward Anora and Cailan. Teagan bit his lip as he watched her go before deciding to follow a ways behind.

"Your Majesties," Iseult said as she approached the royal couple, instinctively falling into an elaborate Orlesian curtsy.

Cailan broke off his hushed conversation with Anora to bow and grin at Iseult. "Lady Cousland. Have you tried the mulled wine? It was supposed to be some sort of fancy Antivan recipe but it tastes rather odd." He held out his golden goblet toward Iseult.

With a smooth gesture Iseult accepted the proffered drink and took a sip. It tasted like nutmeg and cinnamon and good Antivan wine. Iseult glanced at Anora over the rim of the cup. The woman's face was calm but her eyes looked like she was attempting to shoot bolts of lightning at Iseult. Which was precisely what Cailan wanted, Iseult guessed. He never had been above using her to infuriate Anora, one of the few acts of rebellion he could get away with. "It does taste a little off," Iseult nodded, careful to pass the cup back to Cailan in such a way that their fingers couldn't avoid meeting. She played Cailan's game, as she always did. An angry Anora was a happy Iseult. "Poisoned?"

"Probably," Cailan readily agreed, positively beaming at Iseult. "Of course, I needn't fear assassins. Who would dare attack me with the She-wolf of Highever here to protect me?"

Iseult grinned in spite of herself at Cailan's use of her nickname. It had been given her by Loghain, of all people, when it was discovered that she was more than capable of defending her family's rights. Or, as Vaughan explained it, when Loghain realized that "Bryce's Little Spitfire" actually meant "vicious, sword-wielding hell cat." Loghain hadn't meant it to be entirely complementary, but Iseult took inordinate pride in the title regardless. "Indeed," Iseult murmured, thoughtlessly slipping her arm through Cailan's as she used to do before his marriage, "You are quite safe with me."

"But who will protect me from you?" Cailan asked, his eyes sparkling with amusement, a brow raised.

"I didn't know you needed protecting," Iseult answered with a laugh, tugging lightly on Cailan's sleeve to induce him to move in Teagan's general direction. "You must chastise him. He has accused me of cruelty." She spoke loudly enough for Teagan to hear, her tone bantering. Teagan did not look amused.

"Has he, indeed? Well, we'll have to find some fitting punishment for you, Uncle. Banished to hunt at Rainesfere alone, perhaps?" Cailan took a step to follow after Iseult only to find his other arm held quite firmly by a stationary Anora.

"I do not think that is necessary, or appropriate," Anora interrupted, voice cool. She moved forward and placed herself to face Iseult. "Rather like that coronet you are wearing. When last I looked, you were not a Teyrna, and have no right to wear a Teyrn's crown. I would suggest you remove it."

Iseult turned toward Anora and met the Queen's gaze unflinchingly. Her father had told her an hundred times not to contradict the Queen. Iseult usually managed by avoiding or ignoring her. She was hardly aware that Cailan had dropped his hold of her arm and stepped back toward Anora, or of Teagan's sharp intake of breath. "I will not," Iseult told the Queen quietly, voice barely above a whisper.

Anora's eyes flashed, her face assuming a threatening leer, "I beg your pardon?"

Cailan's jaw flapped and he searched the room wildly for a sight of Eamon. His uncle was nowhere to be found. For wont of a better idea, Cailan flashed a grin at the women, "No need to fight over it, ladies. It's just a piece of jewellery, after all. Nothing to make a fuss over."

Iseult ignored Cailan. "You heard me," she said in arch response to Anora. Already the crowd around them was being drawn to the tension between them and the hall was growing quiet.

"I am Queen here, _Lady, _and I demand that you remove that coronet." Anora's tone rose, loud enough to draw the attention of the entire hall.

_If that is how you want to play it…_Iseult thought to herself, smiling mirthlessly at Anora. "Queen?" She, too, spoke to the crowd at large, "I see no queen here. I see the daughter of a commoner and a whore pretending she has the right to wear that crown." Iseult steps back to wave an arm at Anora in a grand gesture, "I see a peasant slut who thinks she can hold on to the throne by guile since she has failed to produce an heir." Iseult levelled a finger at the queen, "I know you, Anora."

Anora let Iseult finish and even managed to remain calm until her childless state was brought up. She launched herself at Iseult only to find herself plucked up midair by Cailan. Anora clawed wildly at Cailan, any part of him she could reach, the while hissing like an angry cat.

Iseult moved at the same moment, kneeling to draw out the dagger strapped to her leg beneath her dress. Teagan grabbed her arm roughly, managing to pull her partially upright. Iseult struggled against him, at first by twisting her arm about. When that failed Iseult drew back her free hand to strike Teagan in the face. She would have at Anora if it was the last thing she did. Teagan held on to her desperately, needing both hands to restrain her one. "Vaughan!" He called roughly for the only person likely to hold Iseult back without being severely injured in the process.

The whole room seemed to be moving. Loghain shouted, Bryce shouted, nobles whispered, jeered. Iseult would have sworn she could hear Fergus laughing. Anora was screaming for guards to arrest Iseult, Cailan was yelling as angrily for them to stand down. Vaughan's arms were around her waist, pulling her backward, away from Anora. Iseult pulled at Vaughan's shirtsleeves, pushed at his arms, but instinctively avoided hurting him.

She was still fighting Vaughan halfway down the length of the hall when her father appeared, seemingly from nowhere, utterly furious. "You get of here. Now." He was the only person to whom she would willingly listen, and listen she did. Vaughan lightened his grip on her waist, allowing Iseult to wrench herself free. She straightened her dress, tossed her air, and walked swiftly from the hall. She was aware of Vaughan following her, and others behind him.

"Where are we going?" Vaughan asked flippantly once they reached the courtyard. Iseult was pacing madly in the torchlight, the cool air finally calming her temper. She didn't answer, so Vaughan leaned against a nearby hitching post and watched. He allowed her a few more turns about the muddy courtyard before repeating his question.

"Back to Highever," Iseult answered, folding her arms round herself, "Away from here. Away from _her,_" Iseult's voice ventured into that dark, throaty territory that somehow made men sit up and take notice. She emphasized her words with a rough jerk of her arm toward the Palace doors.

"Bad idea. Wouldn't want to look like you were running away, would you?" Vaughan turned lazily toward one of the stable boys whose nap in the hay they had interrupted. "You there, our horses."

Iseult stopped pacing and turned to regard Vaughan, uncertainty flickering briefly over her countenance. "Father's estate, then." She almost made it sound like a question. At Vaughan's agreeing nod Iseult sighed and found herself horrifyingly calm. Iseult and Vaughan's horses, high-strung hunters, were led from the stables by the sleepy grooms. Iseult paused before leaping into the saddle, turning to look over her shoulder at Vaughan. "Father is going to kill me."

Vaughan grinned as he swung lightly into the saddle. "Yes, he is."


End file.
